Tears of a Clone (Easytown Novels Book 2) Page 4

  “Zach, it’s time for you to wake up.”

  “Wha?” My face was stuck to my pillow.

  “It’s almost noon. You should wake up if you’re going to make your appointment.”

  I rubbed my palm across my face and regretted it immediately. Somehow, I’d cut my hand. “Good morning, Andi,” I yawned. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “Nine hours, thirteen minutes and forty-seven seconds.”

  I tried to do some math in my head. It hurt too much. “What time did I get home?”

  “2:16 a.m.”

  No wonder I felt like crap. I’d been up all day yesterday, then half of the night after—

  “Wait!” I said, bolting upright in bed and then immediately regretting it. “I got stood up by Avery, and then I got very drunk.” I examined my hands, both of which had abrasions on the palms, meaning that I’d probably fallen. Come to think of it, my knee hurt too.

  “I think… Did I go to Slidell?”

  “Yes, you did, boss.”

  I didn’t remember much past buying a liter of whiskey from a random liquor store near the restaurant in Dillard. “What happened?”

  “Do you want the long or the short version?”

  I vaguely remembered Avery stomping on my heart and saying I was worthless, so I didn’t need the full recount of what she said.

  “Give me the short version.”

  “Avery doesn’t want to go on any more dates with you and says that you need to take better care of yourself.”

  “She didn’t say that second part, you’re just trying to trick me into eating healthier.”

  “Oh for Christ’s sake, what the fuck are you doing here Zach?” Avery’s muffled voice echoed around my bedroom. Andi must have recorded the conversation.

  When the short, one-way conversation was over, I sighed. “I wish I hadn’t heard that when I was sober.”

  “I tried to only give you the highlight reel,” Andi stated.

  I eased out of bed. “It’s highlights, Andi. A highlight reel would be video evidence.”

  Before my foot touched the bathroom floor, I turned and focused on Andi’s camera in the corner above the bed. “And she’s right; it’s weird that you’re always around.”

  “I’m not in the bathroom.”

  “The one place I can get away from you,” I said over my shoulder as I walked into the bathroom. I wasn’t safe in here either, though. The toilet computer was always telling me what was wrong with my urine.

  When I was finished, I walked gingerly to the kitchen for coffee. “Andi, can you order me breakfast, please?”

  “You don’t have time to wait for delivery, boss. You have a one o’clock appointment.”

  “What appointment?”

  “You agreed to a one o’clock meeting with Internal Affairs at 12:27 last night.”

  “Goddammit! Text or voice?”

  “It’s a face-to-face meeting downtown, Zach.”

  “No, I mean did I talk to IA or message them?” I had no recollection of a conversation with IA either.

  “It was an email message. I monitored your progress and cleaned up spelling errors based on your inebriated state.”

  Close one. If IA wanted to talk to me, sending a convoluted drunken message would add fuel to their fire. I grabbed my phone and tapped a few keys. The email message displayed brightly and I groaned at Andi’s corrections to my reply:

  Yes, I will gladly meet with investigators from the New Orleans Police Department Internal Affairs Division. Out of the proposed meeting times, the 1 p.m. time works best for my schedule since I typically work nights due to the astronomical homicide rate in the Easytown district.

  On a side note, I would like to thank the New Orleans Police Department Internal Affairs Division for their hard work and diligence to ensure that justice is upheld across our department. I look forward to assisting with the investigation as needed.

  Thank you,

  Detective Zachary Forrest, NOPD

  “Andi, this doesn’t sound anything like me.”

  “I did what I could. Your final paragraph originally read, ‘On a side note, the investigators at IA can go fuck themselves. Hardworking cops are just trying to do their jobs and you assholes are interfering.’ That was not an appropriate response from an officer who wants to remain employed by the police department.”

  “Okay, fine. You win, that would have looked really bad.” I scrolled through the original email, IA wanted to talk to me about the shooting last night at Club Megasonic.

  “You need to shave and get dressed, Zach. Traffic is backed up on the highway and current estimates put you arriving at 12:53 p.m. if you left now, which you can’t do since you are not ready. We can continue our discussion in the car if you’d like.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Oh, one more thing, Zach,” Andi said as I rushed to get ready.

  “What’s that?”

  “You accessed the Paxton Himura memory chip again last night.”

  Tommy Voodoo delivered a copy of the droid’s memory chip to me after she committed suicide. I’d been guilty on several occasions of viewing the contents when I was drunk and lonely. I considered destroying the damn thing on multiple occasions, but every time I got close to following through with it, something kept me from doing so.

  “Thanks for letting me know.”

  “You’re welcome. Current estimate of arrival is now 12:55.”

  That was my Andi. Always on top of things, even when my life was a total disaster.

  “So you admit to provoking an altercation with the Bloodhounds?” the investigator, Smith or some other equally innocuous name, asked.

  “I hardly think that talking to a group of men openly taunting a police officer is provoking,” I replied. “It is our job to interact with the public and to keep them safe.”

  “Part of your job is to diffuse situations and not allow them to escalate beyond the verbal level, Detective.”

  Smith looked at his partner, Jones, and nodded. These two fuckheads thought they were correct about every piece of drivel that fell out of their mouths. They probably went and jerked each other off after they finished raking good, hardworking cops over the coals each day.

  I hated IA. I really hated them. It may have stemmed from the fact that they always seemed to be investigating me, but I think it was more likely because I fundamentally disagreed with their entire existence. Cops who investigated cops were scum. We needed to band together and help one another, not seek out ways to destroy each other.

  “Have either of you two walked a beat?” I asked.

  “We’re not required to answer your questions, Detective,” Jones stated. “Internal Affairs is conducting this investigation into your misconduct, not the other way around.”

  “So, no. You haven’t.” I snorted in contempt. “We’re at war out there, fighting to protect the innocent and detain the rest. You make these grandiose statements about how cops are supposed to diffuse the situation—or what was it you said earlier, to ‘ensure the safety of everyone, regardless of their affiliation.’ That’s what you said, right?”

  “That’s exactly right,” Tweedle Dee answered smugly.

  “That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard. You two always come around, second-guessing what the men and women on the street do, when you’ve never even stepped foot on the pavement. You sit up here in your nice little office and look down from on high, passing judgement on officers who put their lives on the line.”

  I made an effort to calm myself. I was in dangerous territory, I could be angry and tell them what I thought, to a point, but if I attacked them or said something that they could latch onto, then they’d fry me. Tweedle Dum’s face was already beet red and he looked as if he’d explode.

  “Do either of you know how many police officers were killed last week in New Orleans?”

  “It was two or three, Detective. Honestly, it’s not our place to—”

  “Eight,” I cut him off.
“Eight men and women, fathers, mothers, husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, sons and daughters. They will never go home again because they were out there trying to make this city a better place.” I jabbed my finger angrily at the window.

  Inside my suit pocket, I felt my phone vibrate two times, then pause and two more times. I needed to go, but I couldn’t yet.

  “This city is infested with thugs, gangs, organized crime, drug dealers, murderers and psychopaths—all of whom don’t give a flying fuck about killing a cop. And there’s ten times as many two-bit thieves and criminals that we’re trying to deal with to help keep the population safe. You want to go tell those officers’ families that they should have reacted differently in the situations that got them killed?”

  Smith shook his head, but Jones stared at me, cold. “If they screwed up, then I’d absolutely tell their families that.”

  I pushed away from the table and stood up, leaning menacingly over the table. “Then you’re a bigger asshole than I’d originally given you credit for.”

  “Hey! Where are you going?”

  I pulled out my phone and showed them the screen. “I’ve gotta go to work.”

  “Uh, what is that?” Tweedle Dum asked.

  I didn’t what I’d shown them, but the phone’s buzzing pattern meant it was a picture message from Drake, so it was work related. When I turned the phone back to me, I saw three mutilated corpses in what looked like a trash pile.

  “Are we done here?” I asked, slipping the device back into my pocket.

  “No, we’re not. You still haven’t addressed the actual events.”

  “I killed some stupid, fucking gangbangers trying to shoot me. There’s street light surveillance video, twenty-six witnesses, and my statement to the uniformed cop on site. Those three things are more than sufficient to determine that I acted both in self-defense and in defense of the patrons of Club Megasonic against the four members of the Bloodhound gang. I even tried to save the life of one of those losers.”

  I resisted the urge to flip the IA cops off as I said, “See ya next time,” and stormed out of their little interrogation room.

  “Andi, bring the Jeep around.”

  “On it, boss,” she replied.

  I rushed down the hallway and out the front door. IA’s position on the first floor illustrated how much the NOPD despised them. Besides a few supply closets, the mail room and building security personnel, nobody else was on the first floor. Worthless sacks of shit.

  As I stood waiting for the Jeep, a uniformed cop made a beeline across the loading zone toward me. “You’re Detective Forrest, right?”

  I regarded him skeptically. He was young, early twenties, with a wetness behind the ears that was almost visible. I pegged him for a rookie right away. The kid was just average. Average height, average build, average looks, nothing about the guy stood out to me in any way. If I’d met him before, he’d been quickly forgotten. “Yeah, why?”

  “I’m a huge fan,” he replied. “That case you worked with the Pope? Wow. Talk about exciting.”

  “Yeah, it was a big deal for the department.”

  “We spent two whole days on it at the academy. It’s one of the biggest law enforcement success stories of the last century.”

  “A lot of innocent people got killed and injured. They always seem to leave that part out.” Where’s the damned Jeep?

  “Sure, but you stopped the drones from killing more people, then saved the Pope. That’s awesome.”

  “It had to be done. If I didn’t do it, someone else would have. I just happened to be at the right place at the right time.”

  “Hey, can you sign this?” he handed me a citation booklet and a pen before I could answer.

  “Uh, I guess.”

  He tapped the thin brass nameplate on his uniform. “Make it out to Jake Hannity. I’ve never met a Medal of Valor recipient,” he added as I signed my name across the page. “I would love to be able to take out some of these punks like you do. Really try to clean up the streets, you know?”

  I knew. “It’s a lot more hassle than it’s worth, kid. Keep doing your job and go home to your family each night.”

  “Oh, I’m not married.”

  “Okay, then do whatever it is that you like to do. Don’t end up like me.”

  I handed him back his booklet and stepped down into the street where the Jeep had pulled up.

  “But I want to be like you. You’re a hero.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  The slamming Jeep door saved me from hearing his answer. An attitude like that would end up getting the kid killed and I didn’t want any more blood on my hands.

  When I glanced back at him while the Jeep waited to pull into traffic, he held the citation booklet almost reverently, staring at my signature. He had the biggest, goofiest grin on his face.

  Goddammit. The last thing I needed right now was some rookie cop trying to follow me around. I hoped the signature was enough for him, but somehow, I doubted it would be.

  FIVE: SATURDAY

  “What’ve we got, Drake?” I asked, ducking under the yellow police tape blocking the end of the alley.

  “Good afternoon, Detective,” the former linebacker replied. “Garbage droid was making its rounds when it discovered the bodies. Luckily, the DNA sensors in the containment unit triggered a halt before they were crushed, but—”

  “The dump site is contaminated,” I surmised, looking at the trash bin still suspended in the air above the truck from when the droid dumped it into the compactor.

  “Yeah. Don’t know how much evidence there would have been anyways,” Drake said. “What there was got dumped into the compactor and mingled with all the garbage.”

  “There’s always something,” I muttered.

  Ben Roberts and his assistant were already snapping photographs of the inside of the truck. I waved to catch his attention.

  “Don’t think we’ll be long, Detective,” Ben said as a way of greeting. “There’s only so many ways we can photograph a few bodies piled up on top of each other inside a trash compactor.”

  I gestured toward the trash bin where I presumed the bodies had been dumped by the murderer. “Please make sure you get pictures of the inside of the bin.”

  The photographer dropped his camera on its strap where it banged against his chest. “How long have we known each other, Forrest?”

  I held up my hands in surrender. Ben was the best forensic photographer I’d worked with in twelve years on the police force. “Sorry, Ben. I’ll stay out of your way and get suited up.”

  “Thanks.”

  I set my bag down out of the way and opened it. Inside I had all sorts of gadgets that the department had supplied for crime scene investigation and a few others that I’d procured on my own over the years. This would definitely be a low-tech investigation, so I pulled out a set of disposable white coveralls and overshoes.

  Before I put the suit on, I placed my hat on top of the bag and folded my jacket over the top of it.

  “Hey, Detective, I can go up in there if you’d rather not get dirty,” Drake offered.

  “Thanks, buddy, but I’m alright. I have absolutely no plans for tonight…or the next three hundred nights.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, things between me and Avery are over,” I replied. “She said I was a grouch and too involved with my work. Oh, and that I was a drunk.”

  Drake looked sidelong at me as he squeezed into his own waterproof suit. “That didn’t come as a surprise to you, did it?”

  I thought about it for a second. “Probably more than it should have. It’s hard to have all of your faults listed out loud and then thrown in your face.”

  “I bet it is. Are you alright?”

  “I’ll be fine. It just stinks right now.”

  “It won’t mean anything, but I’m sorry for you. Is there anything Genevieve or I can do?”

  I grunted as I bent over to slip the overshoes on my feet. “No, thank you. I’m goi
ng to try to eat a little better, maybe try to get in shape.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” he answered, finishing his own preparations to protect against the filth in the garbage compactor.

  “Alright, Detective, we’re done,” Ben said from near the truck. “I’ll have all of these uploaded by the end of the day.”

  “Thanks, Ben.”

  I wrapped a heavy piece of leather around my lower leg that reached almost to my knee and secured it with a couple strips of silver tape. I was in Easytown after all. There’d been several detectives who’d gotten a nasty surprise wading through the garbage. I didn’t plan on catching some exotic disease from doing my job.

  Next, I put on a thin pair of disposable cotton gloves to absorb the moisture from sweat and then slid heavy-duty rubber gloves on each hand. The gloves could withstand an accidental needle stick as long as I didn’t try to jab my hand repeatedly onto something.

  “Alright, let’s get this over with,” I sighed. “How were they killed?”

  Drake, similarly dressed and protected as I was, said, “Looks like multiple stab wounds, but that was just me peeking into the truck before Ben got here.”

  I grunted in acknowledgement and grabbed onto a rung up high, pulling myself up a couple of feet until my foot found the lowest step on the ladder. I climbed up and stopped when I got to the opening. The smell of refuse and spoiled meat hit me hard, causing me to retch involuntarily. The three bodies were on top of several bags of garbage near the center of the compacting unit.

  My foot hovered over the edge as I started to step down, but I caught myself and pulled it back. “Hey, Drake!”

  “Yeah?”

  “Get the driver over here before you come up.”

  “Got it.”

  I examined the bodies while I waited. Two females and a male. Lots of bruises and cuts, some were stab wounds while others looked like someone tried to fillet them.

  “Yes, sir?” a robotic voice called from a few feet below me.

  “You’re going to have two detectives up here in the back of your truck inspecting the bodies. Don’t start the compactor—actually, don’t do anything.”

  “Understood, sir. I will remain away from the controls.”